


Bump in the Night

by Fictionwriter



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionwriter/pseuds/Fictionwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me again why we’re driving through the wilds of Oxfordshire in the dead of night?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bump in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lewis_challenge Fright Fest 2013
> 
> Thanks again to moth2fic for her beta services.

“Tell me again why we’re driving through the wilds of Oxfordshire in the dead of night?”  
  
“It’s hardly the wilds.” Lewis gave him a pointed look. “And you didn’t have to come. I could’ve done this interview on me own you know. It’s not as if Mr Marshall is likely to give us any more information than we’ve had already from the other sources.”  
  
James Hathaway ignored his boss’s querulous tone of voice. They were both frustrated and edgy. A particularly gruesome murder on their docket and no progress made. An interview with Tom Marshall, a potential witness who might have seen the murderer shortly before the deed, or might not, seemed the last resort in a trail of dead end leads. If nothing came of it they were back to square one. Their fate was that Mr Marshall worked odd shifts and wouldn’t be available for interview until nearly midnight, hence their moonlight drive.  
  
“Can’t have you lurching around the countryside on your own,” James murmured, looking out the car window at the ghostly shadows speeding past. He grinned. “Not on Halloween night at least, when the dead walk.”  
  
Lewis frowned. “I’ve seen enough dead already, don’t need them turning up again from the afterlife.” He glanced across at James. “You don’t believe any of that do you? Ghosties and ghoulies and lang-legged beasties?”  
  
“And things that go bump in the night,” James finished, then shrugged. “All Hallows is when you remember the dead. I don’t think that means they actually come back to visit, despite the modern perception of Halloween.”  
  
“But isn’t that what your lot believe? Life after death and all …”  
  
It wasn’t Lewis’ fault they crashed then, preventing him from finishing his sentence or James from answering him. The apparition came from nowhere, suddenly standing in the full glare of the car’s headlights.  
  
Lewis swore and yanked hard on the steering wheel, turning the vehicle sharply to the left, headlights tracking away from the ghoulish face and cloak covered body to swing in a giddying whirl past trees and roadside hedges. He nearly regained control, pressing on and off the brakes, but gravel at the edge of the tarmac defeated him, sending the car into a skidding slide through the hedge to nosedive into the small ditch beyond.  
  
The world went still after that, and quiet. It took a moment for James to actually assimilate what had happened. Then he tried to move and was relieved when his limbs responded and there was no screaming pain. Sounds came back too, a gentle clicking from the car engine and the grind of shifting metal.  
  
Then there was Lewis’ anxious face close to his and a hand on his arm.  
   
“James, are you all right?”  
  
James thought about it for a second. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, reaching to unclip his seat belt. He looked at Lewis, quickly assessing for damage. Apart from a red mark that might have been seatbelt burn on the side of his neck, he seemed fine too. James breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
“What the hell was that?” Lewis said.  
  
“I think it was a rather small vampire, sir.” James told him.  
  
Lewis looked at him as if he’d just grown two heads, which given the current situation might not have been all that impossible.  
  
“What on earth are you talking about?  You haven’t bumped your head have you?” he said. The anxiety was back and it looked as if he was going to reach up and inspect James himself for any damage.  
  
“No, it was definitely a vampire. It’s there now, staring at us through the window.”  
  
Lewis twisted so quickly that James hoped he hadn’t given himself whiplash. The apparition that had caused the accident didn’t move. Chin at a level with the bottom of the window and nose pressed up against the glass, the glow from the still working car’s interior lights and headlights gave the face that stared in at them an unnatural appearance, or maybe it was the two fangs that poked out over the bottom lip and the drops of artistically arranged blood that spattered down from the mouth, all set off under a mop of unruly dark hair. Then it spoke.  
  
“Hey, mister. Sorry we broke your car. We didn’t mean it.”  
  
Lewis sputtered and James wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He still wasn’t certain when they were standing by the side of the wrecked car and Lewis was giving the vampire child, and his slightly smaller werewolf companion cowering behind, a right telling off.  
  
“You both could have been killed,” he finished.  
  
The vampire had listened intently, giving up trying to interrupt after the first verbal salvo. But Lewis’ need to draw breath allowed him an opening.  
  
“Yes, sir. I know, sir. And I said I’m sorry. Only you’ve got to come and help Michael. I think he’s hurt. But we can’t get him out.”  
  
James quickly straightened up, content until then to slouch against the rear of the car with his hands in his pockets, caught in an almost horrified amusement as he watched the performance.  
  
“Who’s Michael? And what are you kids doing wondering around here in the middle of the night on your own?”  
  
The vampire gave James a considering look from its darkly shadowed eyes. The teeth were gone, a victim to oral comfort perhaps, but the rather disconcerting faux blood remained. James watched as a small pink tongue slipped between lips to lick at the bright red before retreating again. He suspected food colouring.  
  
“I’m Jamie.” The vampire grabbed at the reluctant and artfully made up werewolf, pushing him further into the limelight. “And this is my brother, Freddie. We were trick or treating in the village but Michael dared us to come to the old Miller house. It’s supposed to be haunted and Michael wanted to ghost hunt.”  
  
“Well, I’m Detective Inspector Lewis and this is Detective Sergeant James Hathaway,” Lewis told them, his tone a shade gentler now he’d vented his terror at nearly having wiped out two innocent children.  
  
Freddie’s eyes got a little wider under the wig of tightly curled hair and bushy glued on brows but Jamie appeared unfazed.  
  
“Oh, so you’re policemen, good.” He gave James a thoughtful look.  “Are you called Jamie too?”  
  
“No. I’m called James,” James told him with what he thought was remarkable patience. “Or rather, I’m Sergeant Hathaway to you.  
  
 Jamie rolled his eyes.  
  
James ignored that and carried on. “Perhaps you’d better tell us everything. Is Michael another brother?”  
  
“No, he’s our friend. He’s older than we are and mum and dad said he’d have to look after us.” A statement that came with another eye roll. “I thought it was stupid, going to look for ghosts. Everyone knows there’s no such thing.  But Freddie wanted to see for himself.”  
  
“Did not!” Freddie stated with younger brother outrage.  
  
“Did too!”  
  
“Did not!”  
  
“You’re such a baby!”  
  
Lewis, more experienced with sibling squabbles, broke in before things could escalate any further.  
  
“What about Michael? Where is he? You said he was hurt.”  
  
Jamie gave his brother a last scathing look and turned his attention back to the two policemen, his expression urgent with the reminder of why they were all there.  
  
“You have to come. We got inside the house but Michael tripped and fell through the floor and he’s down in the cellar. We couldn’t get down there to help and he said his foot’s sore and he can’t walk.”  
  
“And there is a ghost there too,” Freddie contributed.  
  
“Shut up, Freddie.” Jamie told him without even a glance at his little brother. “There’s nothing there,” he assured the two policemen. “Freddie just saw a mouse or something, then he was too scared to stay there with Michael while I went for help.”  
  
There was an indignant huff from Freddie but Lewis again stalled any arguments.  
   
“We’d better have a look then,” he declared.  “Show us where this house is, Jamie.”  
  
  
  
It was an old double storey ruin, set about five hundred yards from the road through a tangle of wild growing shrubbery that looked as if it had once been a reasonably pretty garden but left to neglect and the ravages of time. The house was in a similar state.  
  
In the few minutes it took to force their way to what had been the front path to the house Lewis and James discovered that the boys belonged in the next village and had been heading home for help before running almost headlong into their car.  
  
The front door was locked and solid enough to resist any attempts at breaking and entering but the boys had gained easy access through a broken window.    
  
They wanted to leave Freddie outside to wait for them, but he refused to stay by himself. Folding his arms and setting a stubborn look on his face when Lewis tried to insist.  
  
“Oh, come on then. But do what you’re told,” Lewis finally gave in.  
  
Freddie smirked as James lifted him up through the window before climbing in himself  
  
Inside was a mess of dust, dirt and cobwebs. The bottom part of the staircase leading to the upper floor had collapsed and it looked as if most of the downstairs rooms might have been taken over by the local wildlife.  The roof had a large hole that had let in the elements so there were scatterings of leaves and twigs in amongst the discarded papers and bits of old furniture. Moonlight shone through too, giving them just enough light to see that the hole in the roof mirrored the one in the floorboards, opening into a pit of blackness.  
  
“Michael, we’re back and we’ve brought some coppers with us.” Jamie was shouting, dashing forward heedless of obstacles. A faint voice answered him from the darkness, spurring greater speed until the boy was at the very edge of the hole, threatening to teeter over.  
  
James reached out and managed to snag hold of Jamie’s cloak, pulling him back, but the movement upset his balance and he staggered before gaining equilibrium enough to push Jamie into Lewis’ waiting embrace. He put a foot forward, then the floor gave way under his back foot.  
  
The fall was bad, the landing worse. His upper back hit the floor first, pushing the breath from his lungs in one long whoosh of air. His arse hit next and he wondered if he’d maybe broken both his shoulder and coccyx the way the pain radiated from both ends and met somewhere in the middle. He lay there for a minute, trying to breathe, making a mental evaluation of his aches. The very least he expected was some really spectacular bruising.  
  
“James. James. Damn it, man. Are you all right?”  
  
James opened his eyes and could just make out Lewis’ face in the dull light, peering down at him from where he crouched cautiously at the edge of the hole. The anxiety written across his features spurred James into movement.  
  
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, flexing limbs and muscles, grateful that the floor of what was obviously the cellar was dirt and not cement.  
  
“Thank god. What about Michael, can you see him?”  
  
“Hang on, I’m checking.” James made an effort and managed to stand up. The cellar was low ceilinged and mostly dark. Dust motes danced in the air, created by his fall. There was the smell of dirt and decay in the air, and something else indefinable and nasty.    
  
He looked around and spotted the boy huddled against the wall in the darkness, arms wrapped around bent legs, staring at James before quickly ducking his head down to his knees. He was less obviously costumed than Jamie or Freddie, having settled for a painted white face with dark rings around his eyes, a top hat that was clamped down hard on his head and an old coat that looked as if it might have belonged to his great-grandfather. Even as James watched faint tremors shook the thin frame and it seemed he was ready to flee at the slightest noise, not that he had anywhere to flee to.  
  
James crouched down in front of him, his hand outstretched, intending to rest it on the tense shoulder, but withdrew at the last minute. There was no point scaring the lad any further.  
  
“Baron Smedi I assume,” James said in a gentle voice.  
  
The bowed head lifted and tear filled, frightened eyes looked into his but there was a ghost of a smile there too.  
  
“Yeah, how did you know? He’s cool but Jamie and Freddie didn’t know who he was.”  
  
“An educated guess. And yes, he’s very cool,” James said as gently as he could. “My name’s James. I’m a policeman and we’re going to get you out of here,”  
  
“Can we go, now? Please.”  
  
“In a minute,” James told him. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“My foot, I twisted it when I fell.”  
  
“Okay, can you walk do you think?”  
  
There was a shrug and a half nod in response. “Maybe.”  
  
James switched his attention to the rest of the cellar, looking for a way out. But there was none. The collapsed stairway under which must have been the only entry was a mass of rubble, concrete and timber. There were a few floor boards hanging dizzyingly from the upper floor but apart from that the cellar was empty, with only cobwebs and dirt the other occupants.  
  
“James, what’s happening down there?” Lewis called.  
  
“Not a lot,” James called back. “There’s no way out but up and I don’t think there’s any way I can climb up. It looks as if we’re stuck.”  
  
“Well, can you use that clever phone of yours to get a rescue team in?”  
  
“Smart phone,” James automatically corrected, feeling around in his pocket and pulling out the phone. He depressed a button; the screen remained depressingly blank. He could see a large crack across the face. “Unlike me, I’m afraid it didn’t survive the fall, sir. What about yours?”  
  
“Ah, yes. I’ve already tried that. It seems to be flat. I forgot to charge it at home this morning.”  
  
James refrained from comment but made a mental note to ensure there were spare chargers in the car in future. Or maybe he’d confiscate Lewis’ phone every morning and start charging it himself.  
  
“Stay put,” Lewis continued. “We’ll go to the village for some help. Jamie says it’s not far.”  
  
“Don’t think I’m going anywhere soon, sir.” James muttered.  
  
  
  
It was quiet after they left.  James settled next to Michael with his back against the cold stone wall and watched the moonbeams the shone through the gap in the roof play games with the shadows. Michael hadn’t spoken since those first words and James could feel the tension in his body. He knew he should try and say something comforting to the boy, but he wasn’t really good with kids, felt a disconnection with them even more so than the rest of the world. So what to say eluded him, which was strange as he seldom felt at an actual loss for words, even if those words were what Lewis named facetious mockery. But then he wasn’t too comfortable himself so little wonder he was a bit tongue-tied. There was a strange discordance in this old house that set him on edge, made him look twice at the shadows and his senses jump with each minor sound of scratch or scrape. Probably mice and the creaking of the old bones of the house, which was a disconcerting thought in itself.  
  
In the end it was Michael who spoke first, “I’m scared,” he said, his voice shaky and still close to tears.  
  
“Don’t worry,” James told him with what he hoped was a degree of reassurance. “They’ll be back soon to get us out of here.”  
  
It didn’t seem to have worked because there was a loud sniff and half sob before a whispered “What if they don’t get here in time?” that almost panicked James with its quiet desperation.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it your foot?” He leant forward to have a look for himself but Michael shook his head.  
  
“There’s something here. It made me fall.”  
  
“Jamie said you tripped.”  
  
This time Michael lifted his head to look full at James. “I didn’t trip, it pushed me!”  
  
James thought about that for a moment, but any glib reassurances he might have thought to give were lost with the expression of certainty on Michael’s face.  
  
“I can feel it too,” Michael carried on, more certain now that he had James’ full attention. “And hear it, though I’m not sure about that. It’s more like something in me head, you know?”  
  
James wasn’t sure he did, unless Michael felt the same scratching at his nerve ends that James was experiencing, a feeling that was making the short hairs on the back of his head stand to attention. It was cold too, almost freezing and the smell he’d picked up on earlier was stronger now  
  
Whether they were sharing the same feeling became moot because the keening that started a moment later was all too real.  It came as a whisper in the wind, only there was no wind down in the cellar, not even a puff of gentle breeze. It was a mournful sound that sent shivers down James’ spine.  
  
Michael jerked, eyes desperately searching and James lay a calming hand on his arm. Maybe it was just the noise of the wind above rustling through the trees he remembered seeing close to the house, or old pipes, or something.  
  
The keening stopped as suddenly as it had started but was replaced by a weird collection of bumps and noises. James forced himself to his feet, trying to decipher the sounds. The closest he could get was that something was being dragged across the ground. He peered into the gloom beyond that faint moonlight but there were only varying degrees of darkness to be seen.  
  
“Hello, is someone there?” James felt foolish saying it. But the situation demanded some standard of normality. Of course there was no answer, just a continuation of the weird noises before they stopped as suddenly as the keening had.  
  
James sat down again. There was no point in standing. He could hardly see a foot beyond the moonlight and it wouldn’t help either of them if he tried investigating and ended up falling in another hole.  
  
“What …what was it?” Michael stuttered. “What’s there?” He was hanging onto James’ hand with a death grip, making the feeling leave his fingers. His top hat had fallen off and he hadn’t bothered to retrieve it.  
  
“It’s nothing, Michael,” James told him. “Probably just the wind or noises through the pipes.”  
  
“Why isn’t someone coming to help us?”  
  
“Don’t worry, my boss will be back soon with more people. They’ll get us out.” As reassurances went it sounded pretty weak, even to James. It seemed to satisfy Michael though as the grip on his hand slacked off enough for James to gain some feeling back when he flexed his fingers.  
  
They went quiet after that, sitting side by side in a small well of comfort. Michael started to doze off and James rested his head back against the wall. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been down in the darkness but it couldn’t be too much longer before Lewis came back, could it? They just had to wait it out.  
  
When the keening started again they both jumped. James pushed himself up and Michael stumbled to his feet after him. It was louder this time, joined by a high, piping voice chanting something that was vaguely familiar but that James couldn’t quite place. There was an eerie light at the edge of the cellar that reminded James of glow worms, lots of glow worms.  
  
Michael hid his eyes in the fold of James’ jacket, as if not seeing whatever it was would mean whatever it was couldn’t see him. The hairs on the back of James’ head rose when Michael starting singing under his breath, in perfect sync with the childish voice.  
  
 _Ring-a-ring o' roses,_  
 _A pocket full of posies,_  
 _A-tishoo! A-tishoo!_  
 _We all fall down_  
  
His heart doing a funny trip-trip beat, he pushed Michael behind him, starting towards the light and what he thought was the direction of the voices.  
  
“No, mister. You can’t go there,” Michael was pulling on James’ jacket, trying to hold him back.  
  
“I have to, Michael,” James told him. “I have to look and see what’s there. Stay back by the wall, you’ll be fine.”  
  
Michael looked as if he was going to argue but instead he dropped down by the wall again and hid his face in his hands.  
  
James carried on, trying to step carefully and not fall over any obstacles. The sounds were louder now, a cacophony of noise beating into his brain, overlaid by the words to the nursery rhyme but he wasn’t sure if it was Michael singing them or something else. He felt off balance, disoriented, the ghostly light the only thing keeping him on track.  
  
Then it all stopped with a suddenness that was startling. The keening and the singing were gone, as was the light – as if a switch had been pulled. Instead there was the sound of heavy footsteps above and shouts before torch light shone down and Lewis’ face peered over the edge of the hole, his voice clear, loud and very welcome.  
  
“James, the rescue unit is here. We’ll have you out in a jiffy.”  
  
  
  
Within minutes the safety of the hole above the cellar had been assessed and a pulley system organised to lift a shaky James and still terrified Michael from the bowels of the house under the eyes of a watchful Lewis.  
  
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Lewis told him half an hour later as he was sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, trying to ease the pain in his back and drinking a cup of strong sweet tea.  
  
“On a metaphorical level maybe I have.” James took a long sip of his tea and noticed that his hand seemed to have stopped shaking. “How’s Michael?”  
  
“About as white as you I imagine, if you could see under all that face paint,” Lewis told him.  
“He’s foot’s been checked out and it’s just a slight sprain. His mum and dad have taken him off home.”  
  
“Something was down there,” James said. “Something not right.”  
  
There was none of the scepticism James half expected; instead Lewis regarded him gravely then said. “Me Aunty Lilly swore she saw me Uncle John at his own funeral. She thought he’d faked his death for a while but when he didn’t turn up again in the flesh she reckoned it was his ghost she’d seen.”  
  
James gave him a jaundiced look. “You’re just telling me that to make me feel better."  
  
“There is that,” Lewis agreed, mischief in his eyes, prompting a smile from James. “Did it? Make you feel better, I mean.”  
  
“Immeasurably,” James told him. “Knowing that Detective Inspector Lewis’ Aunty Lilly and I have something in common is a great comfort.”  
  
“Well, it turned her into a believer.”  
  
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” James suggested.  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” Lewis agreed.  
  
James looked at the house. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of cloud and the lights of the rescue vehicle and police cars were the only thing that illuminated it. It stood sinister and uninviting against the dark background.  
  
“I think we should excavate that cellar,” he said.  
  
Lewis nodded, serious now. “We’ll get the local bobbies on it.” He leaned forward. “Are you sure you’re all right, lad?” he said.  
  
Which James calculated must have been the fifth time he’d asked that same question that evening, including twice since they had been pulled from the cellar. The hand Lewis settled on the back of James’ neck emphasised the concern showing in his face.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure,” James told him for the same amount of times and let himself relax into the comfort of that concern.  
  
  
 **TWO MONTHS LATER**  
  
It hadn’t been easy at first persuading the authorities to dig up the cellar. But James had persisted until they caved in. His research helped.  
  
The house had been in the Miller family for generations, the last occupants being Nathan Miller, his wife, Norah, and their ten year old son, Peter. In the mid 1970’s Nathan made it known that his wife had left him for another man, taking the boy with her. Given the reputation he’d had since childhood amongst the locals of being a bully with a streak of cruelty about him no one was unduly surprised or suspicious at the turn of events.  
  
Nathan continued to live in the house for another five years, alone, until he was killed in a freak accident, losing control of the car he was driving and crashing into the stone wall at the edge of the property. Nothing had ever been heard of his estranged wife or son and attempts to trace them lead to a dead end so the house had been left to fall to ruin. It was then the rumours of strange lights and noises in and around the house began.  
  
That was enough to go on for an excavation order to be given.  
  
Now James stood near the front of the house, Lewis by his side, watching as the coroner’s assistants loaded the waiting ambulance with two stretchers. The remains they found buried in the cellar had been the pathetic remnants of a mother and child long dead.  
  
This wasn’t his case and he didn’t have to be there, beyond the fact of needing some kind of closure on that strange night. He’d told Lewis as much, told him he didn’t have to come either. Lewis had just told him not to be daft and offered to drive.  
  
The local constabulary and the forensics team were in charge and would handle the investigation now. Not that there was anything to investigate, it was all so tragically clear.  
  
It seemed that three boys needed the same closure too, or maybe it was just childish curiosity that had brought Michael, Jamie and Freddie there on their bikes to watch proceedings from behind the police tape. James wondered if their parents knew they’d skived off again to places they really shouldn’t be.  
  
“I see our friends are here,” Lewis said, nodding towards the trio.  
  
James smiled. “The creatures of the night,” he said. “No doubt planning mischief and mayhem.”  
  
“Ah, they’re good enough lads, just full of high spirits.”  
  
James wondered at the choice of words but didn’t say anything.  
  
“Come on, lad. Nothing to be done here. I’ll buy you a drink.”  
  
“That’s the best offer I’ve had today, possibly this week.”  
  
He turned to look at the boys. Jamie and Freddie saw him and waved. James lifted his hand to wave back then he noticed that Michael’s attention was fixed on the side of the house. He glanced over, then looked again. A small figure was standing amongst the overgrown shrubbery; unmoving, watching. Startled, James glanced back to Michael but he was busy now in conversation with his friends, the moment of studied concentration gone. When James returned his attention to the shrubbery there was nothing there.  
  
Lewis was by the car looking a question at him. James shook his head and made for the passenger door. A breeze had started up, bringing with it the sound of a childish voice.    
  
 _Ring-a-ring o' roses,_  
 _A pocket full of posies,_  
 _A-tishoo! A-tishoo!_  
 _We all fall down_  
  
James didn’t look back to see where it came from.  
  
End  
  



End file.
